Tunnel Vision
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Loosely based around Valentine's Day: Sherlock tends to get tunnel vision when it comes to a case, causing him to miss when Molly has a little mishap. Established Sherlolly.


**A/N: A much fluffier Valentine's Day piece, not so sure how I feel about this one...it was inspired by the Brian/Esther storyline in a _New Tricks_ episode I watched recently, unfortunately I can't remember which one though. Hope you like it! :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Tunnel Vision**_

At first, his retreats into his 'Mind Palace' had unnerved her. He would sit on the couch for hours at a time, staring blankly at nothing.

Then she'd had the niggling fear that he wasn't thinking he was remembering; remembering _her_ in particular.

The Woman.

Although that fear had been completely set aside in lieu of a serious conversation in which he revealed that not only was The Woman very much alive, she was simply that: The Woman. Not _The _Woman.

He'd then spent the rest of the evening reminding her just who he considered to be _the_ woman in his life.

Now she was used to his occasional retreat into his mind during a case and she no longer worried that he was regretting someone else. In fact, most of the time it didn't even bother her; but today it did.

Today was Valentine's Day.

Not that they'd had any specific plans, he was on a case and she'd had to work late, but she had hoped for something more than a brief acknowledgement that she had returned home safely before he retreated back into his Mind Palace.

"Mind Palace," she muttered bitterly as she pulled out what she needed to make dinner. "Happy Valentine's Day, Molly," she said sarcastically as she bent to turn the oven on.

After a few more minutes of banging pots in the kitchen as she got dinner started, she popped her head out the door and narrowed her eyes when she noticed he hadn't moved.

Bloody typical.

Nothing seemed to get through to him when he was in that state; well, maybe not _nothing_ but she wasn't in the mood to revisit the theory that she could walk around naked and he wouldn't notice (for the record, he did).

"Coffee?" she asked with forced cheerfulness, he didn't even bat an eyelid. "Black, two sugars," she mimicked in her best Sherlock voice as she went to the kettle.

She'd make him a coffee anyway, sometimes that was enough to break through to him.

Apparently not this time though, she frowned as she placed the coffee next to him and elicited no response. "Fine," she gave in with a sigh, "you win," she murmured as she returned to the kitchen to finish cooking.

Two hours later she looked up from the book she was reading as she finished her dessert and regarded him, wondering vaguely whether she should be worried about how long he'd been sitting there.

She hovered by his chair for a few moments, before deciding he would come out of it when he was ready; retrieving her dishes she returned to the kitchen.

Absently Molly wondered how long she should wait up for him to snap out of it, when she was brought out of her thoughts by a sharp pain across the palm of her hand.

She stared at the redness that started to spread in the warm water before slowly pulling her hand out to look.

It was a little known fact about Molly that she could happily cut up dead bodies without the least bit of squeamishness, but the sight of her _own_ blood was something she'd never really learnt to cope with.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.

In the living room Sherlock blinked and took in his surroundings, noting the lateness of the hour and the mug off coffee next to him.

Absently he reached for the mug as he continued to readjust after being in his Mind Palace for so long. The satisfied smirk at having solved the mystery turned into a look of distaste as he took a sip of his drink.

"Molly, my coffee's cold," he said matter-of-factly, looking down at the offending liquid. He looked up when he got no response, "Molly?" he questioned, before following the light into the kitchen.

The coffee mug fell from his hand as he caught sight of her prone form; he barely noticed the broken pieces of crockery as he rushed to her side, crushing them underfoot as he did so.

"Molly?" he whispered, noting her injuries – cut to the hand (knife in the sink), slight bruising on her left temple (corner of the table as she fell) – as he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, "Molly, can you hear me?" he asked, unconsciously taking her uninjured hand in his and cupping her cheek with the other.

She groaned softly and Sherlock felt himself relax slightly, "Sherlock, why can't you just sneak into bed like a normal person?" she grumbled.

Ordinarily he would have found her grousing amusing, even rather endearing, but he was too worried about possible concussion to even smile at her words.

"Molly," he said seriously, "we're not in bed, you had a fall. You need to open your eyes."

Molly's eyes opened slowly, "What happened?" she asked as he helped her to slowly sit up.

He quirked an eyebrow, "The cut on your hand would seem to indicate that you saw your own blood again," he told her, rolling his eyes when he saw he start to look down. He stopped her with a finger under her chin, "I'd really rather you didn't," he said softly, tipping her head up so she was looking at him.

"Sorry," she said softly.

Sherlock clenched his jaw, tamping down his guilt that Molly was apologising when it was him who was in the wrong.

His momentary distraction meant that he didn't notice Molly try to stand until she had pulled herself halfway off the floor. He leapt to his feet, steadying her as she let go of the table.

"Why don't you get the first aid kit?" she asked, "I'm fine, really," she added, catching sight of his dubious expression.

He pursed his lips but said nothing as he released her and stepped back, watching for the inevitable.

"…or maybe not," she conceded as she swayed on her feet, he caught her and wordlessly helped her to sit down.

"All right, Mr. Observant," she teased as she rested her head on her uninjured hand, watching him retrieve the first aid kit, "you don't have to say it."

He muttered something under his breath and her brow creased in confusion, "Is something wrong?" she asked innocently.

He shot her an incredulous look as he brought the first aid kit back over to where she was sitting. "You fell," he said after a long moment, frowning at her small hiss of pain as he cleaned her cut.

"Some pathologist I am," she said with a rueful smile, "can't stand the sight of my own blood."

"You fell and I didn't know," he continued as though she hadn't spoken, Molly's smile faded as she watched him concentrate on bandaging her hand, avoiding her gaze. "I had already spent considerable time in my Mind Palace, what if I had continued to do so?" he looked up at her, "What then?" he demanded, getting to his feet and pacing agitatedly.

"Sher-" she began, but he cut her off.

"I won't do it again," he said decisively, coming to a halt in front of her, "I'm so sorry, Molly," he told her softly. "I know I get tunnel vision when I'm on a case," he continued, resuming his pacing and making Molly's head spin a little with his erratic behaviour, "I notice very little of what's happening around me," he shook his head. "But not anymore, Molly, I swear," he crouched back down beside her, "never again."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock," she said flatly, surprising him, "your Mind Palace is part of who you are."

He rocked on his heels, "But isn't this what you want?" he asked, confused.

"I don't want you to be anything, or anyone, but you," she told him seriously.

He searched her face intently, "Thank you," he said finally, his voice coloured with surprise.

"You're welcome, now can you get me some ice? My head is killing me," she teased.

The look on Sherlock's face as he rushed to fetch a bag of frozen peas was almost comical and Molly watched with a small smile as he carefully wrapped the bag in a tea towel before applying it to the bruise on her temple.

She placed a hand over his, expecting him to remove his hand in turn, but he didn't; so Molly didn't move hers either.

"I'm sorry I ruined Valentine's Day," he said after a long moment.

Molly looked at him in surprise, "I didn't think you'd remembered."

He tapped the finger of his free hand to his temple, "Mind Palace," he reminded her.

"I thought you liked to delete all the useless clutter."

"Nothing that involves you could be classed as 'useless,'" he informed her, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

"You always know exactly what to say," she said with a smile, he shot her one of his 'I'm-Sherlock-Holmes' looks and she giggled.

He smiled a little at the sound as he carefully removed the impromptu compress and regarded the bruise, "What's the diagnosis?" she asked.

"I think I'll have to keep you under observation," he told her calmly, making her shiver when she caught the look in his eyes that told her what he meant by 'observation.'

"Mr. Holmes, are you attempting to seduce an injured woman?" she asked, pretending to be shocked.

Sherlock smirked, "A brilliant deduction, Molly," he complimented her, tapping her on the nose affectionately, "that's _exactly_ what I'm doing," he told her, closing the distance and kissing her softly.

Molly smiled against his lips; maybe the day wasn't a complete loss after all.


End file.
